


This Twisted, Tortured Mess

by Aria_i_Adagio



Series: Whatever I've Done - First Draft [4]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, Astral Projection, Female Apprentice, Frenemies, Multi, OT3, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Recovered Memories, Smut, The Magician - Freeform, poly route, the hermit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:39:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15235545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aria_i_Adagio/pseuds/Aria_i_Adagio
Summary: Mission: Combine the versions of the Hermit from the Asra and Julian routes.Method: Rewritten, extended, and additional scenes as needed.Madness: Much.Rating and tags will be updated as other chapters are posted.





	1. Fuck, Marry, Kill

**Author's Note:**

> In which we let Asra and Julian snipe at each other a bit. You know, just to get it out of their systems.  
> Picks up at Asra's conversation with the Apprentice at the Fountain.

“Missing? What would I be missing?” Asra is trying and failing to keep the pain in his eyes from reaching his voice.  We’re sitting on the edge of the fountain in the gardens near where he carved my name into a tree. He's looked stricken since yesterday evening, when he rescued Julian and me from discovery in the library. His hand hovers over his chest and clutched at the fabric of his shirt before he manages to will it back to his side.  He looks down, sadly. “We're all missing something, Dema.”

What happened that they've paid so dearly for it?  I would ask Asra, but there are already pricks behind my eyes, warning of the headache to come if I do.

“Asra, am I the same person I was?”

He looks up at me with eye, startled eyes. “Are you the same person? Yes...” He looks down and drags his fingers through the water of the fountain. “...and no.”. He reaches out and takes my hands in his. “You have the same humor and compassion. You sing the same nonsense songs to yourself. You even use the same obscure vocabulary that I know I didn't teach you. But there's an edge to you that wasn't there before, a sort of anger and cynicism.  Not that I blame you.”

“Why didn't you tell me we were lovers?”

“I...” He drops my hands. “I didn't want to put some kind of expectation on you.  You were so vulnerable at first, and I hoped the memories would come back, like your smile and your songs did eventually.”

Everything about him - his posture, the expression on his face - is a study in misery.  I sit down on the edge of the fountain and start lean my head against against his shoulder before stopping myself, unsure if it would be welcome right now.  We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the water splash in the fountain.

“While I’m being honest, I don't know why you're helping Ilya. He’s not a perfect man. Not even really a good one.  Then again, I suppose no one really is.”

“I know there was something between the two of you.  I found a memory in the library and Julian said something about making assumptions.  Listen, I’m sure he fucked up, but I also think that he’s sorry if he hurt you.”

Asra laughs bitterly.  “Oh that, Julian has more right to be angry with me over how that fell out.  That’s not why I don’t trust him.” I wait for him to continue, searching his eyes for any hint of more information.  He looks away from me and sits in silence, breathing steadily for a few minutes. “Are you...that determined to uncover the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Asra stands up and brushes off his pants.  Faust drops out of the tree onto to his shoulder and curls around his neck.  “Come on. I assume you know where Ilya has himself stashed.”

“I do.”

“We’ll go pick him up, and then, we need to go meet a friend of mine.”

~~~

Julian answers the door to Mazelinka’s hut, stopping low to fit through the frame. “You're here. You got away okay?” He grabs my shoulders and looks me over carefully, as if I might somehow have been injured walking through the palace gardens last night. “Tell me you got away alright.”

“She's fine, Ilya.” Asra's voice had a hard edge to it, as if he's responding to something more than Julian's current overwrought concern.

“Asra!” Julian's gray eye goes wide. “You, you're here.”

“No, Ilya, I'm a hallucination.”

I look over my shoulder to glare at Asra. “Would you two quit?”

“Here now, what's this?” Mazelinka pushes Julian back into her hut.  “Huh. There’s two of you. Well, do you need an invitation, come on in?  Tell me you’re here to take this boy off my hands, he’s driving me crazy.”  She looks Asra up and down and chuckles. “Hmm, I better pack some extra food.”

Julian has worked his way to the back corner of the room, as far from Asra as he can manage.  Asra ignores him in favor of surveying the contents of Mazelinka’s kitchen, which to be fair, are anything except mundane.  I approach Julian and slide my arm around his waist. He smiles and ruffles my hair, but he still looks worried.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“Surprisingly, yes.  Mazelinka didn’t even have to sneak a potion into me.”

“Asra thinks a friend of his might have some information that will help you.”

“Asra?”  He looks across the room where Asra has actually started opening the jars and containers hodgepodged on the shelves.  “Asra is going to help me? He can’t stand me.”

Mazelinka swats Asra’s hand away from one enticingly large crock with her wooden spoon.  “Mind yourself, child.” She pushes a large bundle into my hands. “That should feed the lot of you.  Make sure Ilya eats. Now . . .” She gestures to the door with her arms. “Get out of here and leave an old woman in peace for a bit.”

Outside, I stop to work Mazelinka’s bundle into the string bag I keep in my pocket. Asra kneels down to pet a hen that is picking through the yard for scraps and insects.  “Ilya, you never told me your grandmother was a witch.”

“What? Mazelinka’s not a witch. Those are just herbs.”

“If you say so.”  Asra straightens up.

“What are you doing here?”

“Dema asked me to help.  I thought about sending you on some elaborate scavenger hunt for the fun of it, but Faust talked me out of it.  Come on, we’re headed for the forest north of town.”

~~~

The forest is old growth. Towering giants shade the floor, cooling the air and obscuring the time of day.  Pinewood resin and decaying plant matter scent the air. I find it peaceful, and the same natural spell seems to be working on Asra, who is contentedly humming a tune.  I quicken my place for a moment to catch up with him.

“Who's this friend? I don't remember meeting anyone who lives out in the forest.”

“You've met him.” Asra pauses, drapes Faust around my shoulders and kneels down to gather an herb from beside the party.  “Recently actually. But he's under a spell. People forget him.”

I stroke Faust's smooth head.  Julian has remained back a few paces and is absorbed in studying the leaves of a tree.  To be forgotten? That might be worse than forgetting, at least I still had people who cared about me. “That sounds awful.”

“It's what he wanted.  I'm not sure why the spell excluded me, but I'm glad it did. He's my oldest friend.”  Asra stands and tucks the herb into his bag. “And, I’m glad your two are meeting...erm...again.”

“Dema, Asra,” Julian's voice is uncharacteristically quiet, even as he interrupts us. “Did either of you hear that?”

“Ilya -” Asra’s prior annoyance returns to his voice.  I put a hand on his shoulder and touch a finger to my lips.  I _can_ hear dry leaves crunching off to the side of the pathway.  Faust coils tighter around my shoulders. Heeding her nerves, I put my hand to the knife at my belt.  I can see Asra’s fingers twitching with the beginning of a spell. He leans over, picks up a rock and lobs it in the general direction of the noise.

There's a loud scuffle, and a large ghostly, white crosses behind the trees, running in the opposite direction.  Julian jumps in front of me, but before he blocks my line of sight, I can make it to glowing red eyes. Asra follows the creature for a few paces before returning.

“What was that?” Julian asks.

“Nothing good.” Asra's eyes are narrowed. “We better get to my friend’s quickly.”

“Dema, is that the same thing we saw yesterday?”

“You saw him yesterday?”

“Yes, in Lucio's old wing of the palace. It was more ghostly then.” I stroke Faust's head again, more to reassure myself than her.

“But solid enough to push my sister off a ladder!”

“You have a sister? Nevermind. None of this is good, and the sooner get to Muriel's, the happier I will be.” He sets back off down the path.  Julian finally notices Faust wrapped around my shoulders, jumps in surprise and then turns tho follow Asra. I stroke Faust's head again, more to reassure myself than her. She's a very sensible snake, after all, probably the most sensible in our little traveling circus.

“What do you think, Faust? Shall we lock them in a room together until they fight it out? Or fuck it out?”

Faust turns her head to me and brushes her tongue against my cheek. _Fuck?_

“Yeah. That's where my money is.”

Rain begins to tumble in heavy drops through the forest canopy followed by a roll of thunder.  Asra calls my name. I roll my eyes and trot after them, before one - or both - decide to come back for me.


	2. Hermit Convocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muriel doesn't care for visitors. The apprentice doesn't care for fires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible trigger: I am writing an apprentice with PTSD. There's nothing especially intense in this chapter, but just in case.

Asra and I splash through puddles and flick water droplets off each other’s face as we continue the hike through the forest. Why waste a perfectly good rainstorm?  Julian watches us in disbelief and wraps himself tighter in his cloak. On the pretense of stopping to look at a plant, Asra drops back behind Julian. He uses his magic to gather the rain together into a floating sphere of water.  With a devilish grin - the most genuine expression I’ve seen on his face today - he drops it on Julian before jogging back up and grabbing my arm.

“What the hell!” Julian splutters.

I look back over my shoulder and smile sweetly while batting my eyes.  I’ll play along with Asra’s prank. “What, darling?” Julian’s auburn curls are plastered to his head and turned nearly black by the water. “Oh, you’re drenched.  Have you been walking in the rain?”

“You two are impossible.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Ah, here we are.” Asra stops in front of an ancient tree.  A rough dwelling, tightly stacked but unmortared stone, is built into its roots. Asra goes to the door and begins to trace a series of sigils on it.

“Your friend is a magician too.”

“Mhum.  This kind of thing is his specialty: wards, protections, anything like that.”  His tracings turn white, then fade into the door. Asra pushes it open a crack and calls out a greeting before opening it entirely.  “He’s not home, but it’ll be okay if we wait inside.”

The inside is small, but tidy.  The ceiling is high, built well up into the roots of the trees, Julian doesn’t have to stoop, either going through the door or once inside.  Shelves are built along the walls, one corner houses a pile of furs - presumably used as a bed - and the other a table and chairs built plainly from rough hewn, but strong, wood.  Across from the door is a hearth glowing faintly with the remains of a fire.

Asra goes to one of the shelves and sorts through the contents.  He finds a square of clean, dry toweling and presents it to Julian, presumably as a peace offering.  “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll get some firewood.”

I let Faust, languid from the cool rain, down beside the hearth and take the towel from Julian.  “If you sit down, I can actually reach your hair to dry it off.”

“You know, I could do that for myself.”  Despite his grumbling, he takes off his cloak, sets Mazelinka’s bundle on the table, and sits down in one of the chairs.  I step between his legs and toss the fabric over his head, scrunching and rolling his hair between the layers. Worst of the damp wicked away, I drop the towel on the table and finger comb his hair back from his face before kissing his forehead.

“Better?”

“Much.”  He looks me up and down.  “You look like a drowned kitten, yourself.”

“Still breathing though.”

“Yes but,” he takes the towel off the table and dabs at my face.  “You’ve got to be cold. Look you’ve even got gooseflesh on your arms and your -”

“Decolletage?”

“What?”

“Tits.”

“Oh, yes, well, it’s a perfectly normal physiological reaction, but a sign of the body trying to preserve heat...”

“Julian, I’m not that -”  

My protest is interrupted by the door of the hut being thrown open by quite possibly the largest man I’ve ever seen.  He’s carrying a bundle of fur and fabric in his arms and has a nasty scowl on his face. Is this Asra’s friend? He looks at us, huffs, and promptly ignores us to lay his burden down - very gently - in the pile of furs I have presumed is a bed.  Straightening back up, he looks both of us over with hard green eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Umm, we’re with Asra.  He went to get some firewood.”  There’s a canid whine from the bundle he set down.  I look around his bulk. Curled in the furs is a large, black wolf.  Her snout and side are covered in blood. “Is she hurt?”

He grunts in response.  I hope Asra gets back soon.

“I might able to help her.”  Julian ventures cautiously standing up from his chair.

The man glares, harder than before, which I would not have said was possible.  “Don’t. Touch. Her.”

The wolf - I’m not sure how I know she’s she, but I do - cries again, more piteously this time.  The big man strokes her head. He looks like he might cry himself. “Please, let him help.”

“He can help Inanna, Muriel.”  Asra has somehow gotten the door open himself, even with an armload of firewood.

The man - Muriel - gives Julian a decidedly skeptical look, then nods.  Julian takes off his gloves and approaches the wolf, hands held out and up in front of him.  She snarls at him, then calms as her master strokes her back. Julian kneels beside them and lets the wolf sniff his open palm before speaking softly to her.

“That’s a good girl.”  He runs his hand lightly over her bloodied side.  “You must be in a lot of pain. It’s okay, I can help you.”  He presses his hands against her side and closes his eyes. The mark on his throat glows briefly, and then jagged, bloody gouges appear on his arms.  He manages to stand, then staggers back. I grab his upper arms, hoping that the cuts don’t go that far up and help him back into the chair. The wounds are already healing, but they’re deep and clearly not the good kind of painful.  He leans over, elbows and his knees, and head in his hands. I rub his shoulders in sympathy.

Muriel checks over Inanna carefully, examining each paw and opening her mouth.  Finally, he nods in satisfaction. “Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it.  What I’m here for.”

Asra walks over the hearth and sets down his load of firewood.  He picks up Faust and curls her around his shoulders before adding a log to the embers.  It catches quickly, flames lick up the sides curling through the dry, stringy bark. A ringing, thin and reedy, begins in my ears, quickly swelling along with the flames.  My vision goes fuzzy, darkening around the edges, and the room suddenly feels far away, and I’m falling...

Hands at my waist stop me from landing in the floor.  I blink rapidly, clearing my vision enough to see Julian looking at me with one wide worried eye.

“Dema?” Asra looks at me, face filled with concern.

“I’m . . . I’m okay.”  I take a deep breath, steady myself on Julian’s shoulder, and drag a second chair to where I can sit and Julian will block my view of the hearth and the fire burning in it.  I take one of Julian’s hands and busy myself with checking on the still healing wounds. Inanna must have been hurt badly. Julian’s watching me with concern, but his face is tight with pain and for once he isn’t talking.  “I’m fine, really.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Umm, introductions. Dema, Julian, this is my friend Muriel.  Muriel, Dema and Julian.” Muriel doesn’t look impressed. Asra sighs and leans over to scratch Inanna between the ears.  She licks his hand in greeting. “What happened to Inanna, Muriel?”

“She got a bite of something, and it got a swipe at her.  Big, white thing, but moving so fast that I didn’t get a good look at it.  She says it tasted foul.”

Asra and I exchange a look.  Big, white, and fast moving describes the creature we saw in the woods just now, and that had attacked Portia at the palace.

“It’s not the first time its been seen.  But I don’t like that its physical enough to be bit now.  It wasn’t before. Muriel, have you checked your wards recently?”

“Just now.  I sensed something threatening in the woods.”

“All of them?  Even the one at the top of the tree?”

“Forgot that one.”

“We should probably go check that one as well.”

“Why don’t we eat lunch first?” I suggest. The gouges on his arms have closed up, but Julian still has his head clutched in his hands again, and his skin is paler than usual.  “Muriel, we have a packed lunch, there’s plenty to share, I’m sure.” One thing that I’ve noticed the hut is missing is anything recognizable as food. I start unpacking the bundle from Mazelinka, happy to have something that diverts my attention from the fire, small though it is.  There’s a fresh loaf of bread, cheese, olives, a crock of hummus cleverly sealed up with beeswax, and - oh! - fresh cherries.

“That’s a good idea.”  Asra sits down on a bench on the other side of the table, and Muriel cautiously joins him.  I break the bread into four roughly equal pieces and hand them around, nudging Julian gently.  He raises his head and smiles weakly at me when he takes the bread. Across the table, Asra gives half of his own piece of bread to Muriel and says something about having had a really rich breakfast at the palace that morning.  True, but I can tell he’s concerned about the lack of food in the dwelling.

After we’ve finished eating - or mostly finished eating, I’m polishing off the last of the cherries; Asra, knowing how much I love them, ceded his share to me - Julian pulls out the key we found in the library yesterday.  

“Have either of you seen this before?”

Asra looks expectantly at Muriel.  Muriel looks down at the table, responding with his eyes averted.  “Yes.”

We wait a moment, but he doesn’t continue.  

“Care to elaborate?”

Muriel rolls his shoulders.  “It was . . . the night of the fire.  Asra sent me to find you.”

Julian looks over at Asra, eyes flashing in anger.  “You were there. Why don’t I remember any of this?”

Asra is silent.  He’s keeping his face still, but I noticed a slight twitch of surprise when Muriel said that Asra sent him for Julian.  Is this something Asra has forgotten?

Muriel continues, “You were locked in a dungeon. I brought you up to Lu . . . his room.  The fire had already started. You ran in. I left.”

Muriel is staring off into an unseen distance.  Asra is watching Julian intently. Julian is silent for a long moment before speaking slowly.  “The fire -” he pauses and starts over again. “The fire had already started. It had already started!  I’m - I’m innocent.” He holds up his branded hand, considering the mark. “I’m innocent.” One of his hands traces across his eyepatch; the other touches his throat.  A strange, fey look passes over his face. “I remember now. I was in the dungeon. Lucio locked me down there to work on finding the cure for the plague, said I wasn’t working fast enough.  And -” His voice trails off. He glances up and to the right before looking directly at me and pulling off his eyepatch. “- I found it. Dema, I found it.”

His right eye is intact and functional, but not healthy.  I put my hands of either side of his face, turning it one way and then the other.  The pupil responds to the minute changes in the light, the iris is the same grey as his left eye, but the sclera - the sclera is the crimson red that marked the plague victims.  

“I was dying . . . but the cure - it worked.  And it could still be down there in that dungeon.”  He grabs my hands and presses his forehead against them before looking back up.  His mouth, hanging open in wonder, slowly curls into a triumphant smile that then turns to a laugh.  “I didn’t kill the Count. Everything is in that dungeon. The rest of my answers. The cure.”

Across the table, Asra is smiling faintly, one hand on Muriel’s shoulder in reassurance.  Muriel still has far off, stricken expression. It’s clear that he doesn’t like to recall that night.  Inanna sensing his mood, comes to the table, and nudges his hand. 

Julian stands, running his hands excitedly through his hair, then grabs me and pulls me up with him.  “Dema, we’ve got to find that dungeon! I don’t remember where it is. It’s coming back but everything, everything is still foggy. But -”  He picks me up. I think he would spin me, but there’s no room for it. “I’m innocent!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments make me happy.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [Aria-i-Adagio](aria-i-adgio.tumblr.com).
> 
> Because I'm an uber nerd, I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/embed/user/12125475542/playlist/6KYGCtanlUMyn2u1Ow4vTZ).


	3. The Real Shady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite and expansion the events from "The Magician." Apprentice takes Asra and that creepy fox to task.

We follow Muriel to an ancient oak tree.  The last of his wards is housed in the top branches.  He wraps his hands in leather and scales the tree with more agility than I would have expected from someone his size.  Asra waits until he’s out of earshot, then beckons Julian and me to him.

“Ilya, I’m happy for you.”

“Couldn’t you have just told me?”

“No, I couldn’t.  I’ve forgotten parts of that night, too.  Not as much as you, or Nadi, but some. And Muriel - it’s hard for him to talk about it - so I never pushed him.  Not before today. There are a lot of things Muriel finds it hard to talk about. The way we grew up, the things Lucio made him do, to protect me . . .” Asra’s voice trails off then picks back up.  “The things I did, thinking that it was protecting him. But -” He smiles at Julian and takes his hand, looking - for the briefest of moments - shy. “You’re innocent. That's the important thing.”

Julian’s expression is a mixture of wonder and disbelief - and longing.  They’ve bickered all day, but right now, they’re old lovers caught between fondness and pain.

With an abrupt thud, Muriel descends from the tree, terminating the moment.

“I saw it.  I saw  _ him!”  _ Muriel’s features are contorted in rage.  Asra turns, his expression changing to one of concern.

“So you agree it’s Lucio?”

“It’s him,” Muriel growls.  Inanna howls, mirroring her master’s anger.  “I need to consult the runes.”

“And, if Lucio has somehow returned, I need to consult with my mentor.  Dema, I want to bring you with me. It’s time you met.”

~~~

Muriel's preferred place to cast runes is the peak of a treeless mountain.  Night has fallen, and I'm exhausted by the time we reach the top. I'm used to walking but not to inclines. Vesuvia is flat city, built largely on land reclaimed from the sea. 

Perhaps a view is required for casting runes, for the one at the top of the mountain is spectacular.  The rain has passed for the moment, and the moon is able to peek through the veil of the remaining clouds.  If you look out, you can see the spires of the palace, limned by moonlight and beyond that the dim lights of the city.

With a huff, Muriel sits down with Inanna.  He takes a bag from his belt and pours the contents into his hand.  He casts them on the ground before him, ignoring the three of us.

“Dema, you and I will need to travel together in a trance.”  Asra settles on the ground in a meditative posture, Faust curled around his shoulders. “Ilya, keep watch and try not to bother Muriel.”

Julian doesn't look very happy about the vague instructions and mutters something about magicians and magical things.  I pat his hand reassuringly. “We may learn something important.” I settle down across from Asra mirroring his posture, knees touching his.  Julian crouches next to me.

“Is this safe, Asra?”

“Dema will be safe  _ with me _ .”  There's a note of irritation in his voice.  I groan inwardly, hoping that they don't start sniping at each other again.

“Julian, please, I'm doing this.” I take Asra's hand in mine and close my eyes, letting my consciousness drift into the dark.

Slowly the dark is replaced by a sort of forest glade, saturated with jewel tones.  The meadow surrounds a pond of gently glowing aquamarine water that is slowly shrinking and increasing in size, lapping around my toes.  Asra is sitting, cross-legged, on the surface on the water, smiling peacefully. 

“Dema, you made it.”

A tiny bird, lime green and magenta, flits past my nose.  “What is this place?”

“It’s a gate, a sort of constructed halfway point between the world we know and the numinous.  Most magicians make their own at some point.” He looks about and blushes slightly. “I made this one when I was pretty young.  It might be a bit juvenile.”

“It’s beautiful!”  The sky is caught in a sunset, or perhaps a sunrise, or some other word that describes when the rose and gold tones surround all the edges of the horizon, filtering into the deeper violet directly above their head.  

Asra smiles.  “I wonder what your gate looks like.”

“Do I have one?”

“I know you did.”  He looks away from me and reaches out a hand for a tiny golden butterfly to land on.  “I don’t know if it will be the same once you find it again.”

“When are you going to tell me what happened?”

Suddenly he’s sitting on the ground next to me instead of on the surface on the water.  He reaches up, takes my hand and pulls me down beside him. “Do you trust me that what I have told you is the truth?  Just not all of it.”

“I think so.”  Asra has never given me a reason to think that his motives where I am concerned are anything other than beneficent.  I don’t take my hand away from him. He holds it in his lap tracing lightly over the lines in my palm, lingering on the lifeline.

“When I’ve tried to tell you more, or even when something happens that hits too close to your past . . . Your headache are the least of it, at the worst, you’d dissociate completely, sometimes for days at a time.  So, I stopped trying to tell you anything, and started trying to keep you from running into hints from your past.” He looks back up at me. “It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make for you, but I had to keep you safe.  It’s impossible to balance with not making decisions for you.”

“Even if I never remember, I need to know.”

“I can’t bear to lose you again.”

“If I don’t know who I am, can you even say that you have me?”

“I’m scared of what could happen.”

I wrap my arms around him and lean my head against his shoulder.  “Have more faith in me.”

“I’ll try.” He kisses the top of my head and stands up, wading out into the water.  “Are you ready to meet my mentor?”

“Why not?” I walk out to him and take his extended hand. The water is pleasantly warm and peppers my legs with effervescent bubbles. Asra continues and I realize we're going to submerge entirely.

“Don't worry, you'll be able to breathe if you want, but there's not necessarily any need.”  Hand still holding mine, he sinks himself into the water, pulling me after him.

The next thing I'm aware of is the crashing noise of a wave washing us into a wide, sandy beach.  Like Asra's gate, the colors here are vibrant and other worldly. Pink sand, a deep purple sky, a sea that glitters as the waves crash - but while I can see and hear, I feel nothing. Neither the grit if the sand beneath my feet nor Asra's hand in mine. If this is a deeper plane of reality it's a subtle and disconcerting one.

“Are you alright?” In the shifting light it looks like Asra's aura is blending into the sky itself - being siphoned away into the stuff of this realm.

“Let's find this mentor of yours and ask the questions we came to.”

Asra looks down the beach. I follow his gaze to a curving palm. Indigo footprints, spiral around the tree, leading down to the beach, where a figure manifests before us.  The Magician - he appears just as he is painted on Asra's card, a fix headed, humanoid figure with violet eyes.

“Ah, Asra, you have returned.” The Magician's unsettling gaze falls on me. “And Dema, do you recognize my voice?”

I do. I've heard the Magician speak, just never in words.

“Master,” Asra begins. “There's an entity manifesting itself in the palace. We have questions.”

The Magician regards us in silence, then with a flick of his wrist bends reality around him. The light behind him settles itself into a tent. He throws back the entrance flap and enters gesturing for us to follow him.

I step into the dark interior.  Familiar shapes resolve around me, a rickety table covered by a fringed shawl, mismatched chairs, and the flow of magically lit lamps. It's the backroom of our shop.  But it also isn't. There are no familiar scents of dried herbs and incense and when I run my fingers across the cloth spread over the table, I can't find the darned places where the shawl has been mended in the past.

I settle into one of the chairs. Asra is across from me, with the Magician between us, forming a triangle. He shuffles a deck of cards.

“An entity manifesting at the palace. Vague even for you, Asra?  What is this entity?”

“It's Lucio.”

“Lucio appeared to you? Certainly you know better than to trust appearances.  It is a small matter to look like another.”

“It doesn't look like Lucio. But I know it's him.”

“What does he look like then?”

“The Devil,” I interject.  The Magician contemplates me silently then deals three cards into the table in front of me, beckoning me to choose one.  I flip one over, knowing which card it is before my fingers touch the edge that I see but not palpate: the Devil.

“The goat headed Devil. A powerful archetype. The goat has a terrible tenacity, always pushing its own limits.  And when it sees another reach new heights it is compelled to surpass them, for better or worse. Lucio identified most with those traits.”  The Magician looks up at me and smiles, arching his eyebrows in an appearance of kindness. “We major Arcana are archetypes, manifestations of ancient powers.  You don't know me well, Dema, but we talk often enough. And the more we do, the more familiar we’ll become. You'll know me from an imposter taking my shape.”

What does he mean? Is the goat haunting the palace, a manifestation of the devil, or some sad remnant of a dead count trying to claim the place of one of the Arcana for himself?

“I wonder, Dema, how well do you know your master?”

The mock up of the back room twists and folds on itself; for an awful moment, I lose all sense of direction. There's no up or down, right or left, just gut churning motion. Then the room settles back into place.  For a moment, I think my vision may have doubled from the vertigo, but no, the Magician no longer appears as a fox, but instead as Asra.

“So, little apprentice, who is who?” The room shifts around me again before I can isolate the speaker. Asra would never call me that.

When the room stops moving again, I approach the two figures, reaching out with both my hands and my own magic.  Their auras, shades of violet both, are blurred together one into the other but still subtly different. They're standing close enough that I can reach out and touch their cheeks simultaneously. For a second both lean into my hand, before the one of the left lifts his head back, as if he's not sure he's entitled the affection he so clearly wants.  Asra.

I pull my hand away from the Magician and move to stand directly in front of Asra, cupping his face in my hands.  He gives me a slight smile, but his eyes are sad. I turn my attention back to the auras. My first impression had not been accurate.  They weren't blurring. Asra's aura, ever so slightly warmer in tone, was being slowly replaced by the darker violet of the Magician.

I slide my hands to Asra's shoulders and clutch him against me.  Slowly he returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around my back. I turn my face to the Magician - once again a fox.  Rage builds inside me, tightening in my chest and throat. I curl my upper lip into a snarl. “You can't have him, Magician.”

“So you figured it out.”  The Magician smiles, but this time there is no kindness, just a menacing craftiness.  “When any two beings become familiar enough the line between them can seem to disappear.  To connect with one of the Arcana on a personal level can awaken a wellspring of power. But if the connection is too deep you run the risk of losing your individuality.  Becoming your archetype.”

I tighten my arms around Asra.  I don't care what power he could gain; I'm not losing him.

The Magician’s gaze shifts to Asra and his expression changes again into something like pity.  He told his head looking closely at each of us and rubs his chin. “Fascinating. Here’s part of what you came for: Lucio tried to become one of the Arcana and failed.”

“Lucio tried to become the Devil. How?”

“Why don't you ask him yourself?” the Magician raises one black claw and with a flick of his wrist sets the room spinning again.

When the motion stops, Asra and I are back beside the undulating lake that anchors his gateway.  My arms are still tight around him. He rubs my shoulders. “Hey, it's okay, Dema, you can let go.”

“No, if I let you go, you'll go away again, and this time, you won't come back and you'll become that thing. And I'll be alone again, because I'll have lost you.” I'm aware that I'm probably not making much sense, but once the half coherent stream of words is leaving my mouth, I can't stop it. “Everytime you leave, I don't know when or if you'll be back, or if you've finally decided that you're done with me.”

“Dema.” He runs a hand through my hair. “I'll never abandon you. Not again.”  His voice breaks and we stand in silence for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms.  “I love you too much to do that. Even if you...”

“I do love you.” I pull far enough away from him to look up at his face. “I trust you that I did before, and I still do.  I don't want to lose you.”

“Dema-”

“And every moment in that, that other place, there was less and less of you and more of him. Like he was feeding off of you - gnawing away at your being.”

Asra sinks down heavily, like he's knees have given out beneath him. He pulls me down with him and into his lap. Wordlessly, he presses my head to his chest, over his heart and holds me there.  His breath shakes and while I can hear his heart beating strongly, there's a quiver, as if it's running on a poorly healed limb.

“Asra, something isn't right.”

“No.” He lifts my face to him.  His eyes are wide with wonder, and pain, and something else. “But I have you, so it's okay.”

I lean in to kiss him, pushing him back so that he's laying on the ground.  There's desperation in his kiss, and I'm not on top for long before we've changed places and his hands and mouth, gentle but insistent, are running over every part of my body, caressing each of my fingers and even my toes individually, as if to make sure that I am all there.  I wonder at how long he must have wanted this and I almost feel guilty about the past three years of casual friendly affection and snuggling. Almost, but not quite, because that's kept me together more than once when it's felt like my brain is spinning out of control.

He stops, almost abruptly, as though, he only wanted to touch me and check that I was all there.  He kisses my mouth and strokes my cheek. “We'll finish this later, beloved.”

“Is that a promise?”

He pushed aside my blouse and kisses the spot over my heart. “It is.” He lingers there, cheek pressed to my skin, before disentangling himself from me with a sigh.

~~~

I wake up sprawled on my side, facing Asra with one hand still clasped in his.  I roll over on my back. Julian, asleep, is one the other side of me, nearby, but not quite touching.  Reaching out, I take one of his hands without letting go of Asra and lay still, looking up at the stars and planets spinning above me.  Part of me remembers that there is something not right with the world, but I’m able - for once - to shut that part down, and simply be content.

“Dema,” Asra’s voice is a low whisper.  I turn my face to him. “You and Julian should head back to the palace and try to find that dungeon.  I’m going to stay with Muriel tonight. And I’ll join you tomorrow. I have an idea. I’ll just need to get Nadi to go along with it.”

I nod in agreement.  He pushes himself to his knees, then picks my hand back up, bringing my wrist to his mouth and presses the lightest of kisses to the inside of it.  Somehow that touch is more intimate than a dozen kisses to my mouth could have been. 

“Just be careful, my love.  If your memories start coming back, I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am.  And I’m not afraid.”

“I  _ am _ afraid.”  He looks off into the distance caught in some memory that I both do and do not want to know about.  “Wake Ilya. Muriel and I will get you back to the main road to the palace. And, Dema -” He returns his gaze to me. “Not that you need permission, but it's okay to love two people at once.”  He kisses my fingers again, then stands and walks to where Muriel is sitting with Inanna.

I roll back over and push myself up, stretching my back and arms.  Leaning over Julian, I trace the lines of his face and lightly kiss each of his eyelids, still a little amazed at having access to both.  “Hey, Julian, you shouldn’t sleep outside. You’ll get sick.” His eyes flutter, then he wakes with a start. 

“Oh, you’re back.”  With a yawn, he pushes himself up on his elbows.  “Did you learn anything?”

“Yes. I’ll fill you in on the way back to the palace.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


	4. Imperative Mood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Rating: Explicit
> 
> Trigger warnings: PTSD and an arguably poor coping strategy.

Before we part ways at the edge of the forest, Asra walks up to Julian, grabs him by the shoulders and jerks him down to eye level. “I swear, Ilya, if you let anything harm her again, I will personally tie the noose around your neck.”  Message delivered, Asra turns on his hell and walks off with Muriel.

Julian looks baffled and more than a little turned on.  He's watching Asra walk away, fully entranced by his retreating figure.

“So, is the combination of Asra and ropes something I should keep in mind, Julian?”

“Huh, yes - wait, umm, I mean.”

I laugh and wrap my arms around him.  “As long as we don't actually hang you, my innocent one.” I can't reach his face or even quite his neck, so I settle for kissing his collarbone.  I nip at the skin once and step back, knowing full well he'd prefer that I worry it a bit more with my teeth. “Umm, Julian would it bother you if Asra and I . . .?”  I’m suddenly unable to decide how to phrase the question I need to ask and surprised with myself. After all, I did already arrange group sex with him involved. 

“You are also with Asra?” He laughs. “I thought that was already a given.”  He picks me up and holds me so that our eyes are on the same level. Instinctively, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, even through his grip under my thighs is firm. “My life is a bit of a mess right now, if you haven't noticed, and you are the one bright spot in it.  Whatever comes with you is worth it.” He kisses me on the tip of my nose. “And, frankly, whatever weirdness this scenario might usually bring absolutely pales in comparison to everything else happening right now.” He sets me back down on the ground, then takes my wrist in his hand, a look of concern passing across his face.  “What did he mean by again? I can't think of anything I wouldn't do to keep you safe.”

I shrug and start for the palace. “If you don't know, I don't either.”  It's not something I feel like spending a lot of time thinking about tonight.  Tomorrow will be time enough for searching out lost memories and the dungeons they're chained in.

~~~

It starts to rain in earnest again before we reach the lemonstone gate. Julian pulls me close to him and kisses my cheek.  “I should go.” 

“No.” If we're to begin searching the palace tomorrow, Julian will have to sneak in at some point.  Now seems as good of a time as in the morning. Besides, we should celebrate knowing that Julian is an innocent man, and there's a bottle of spirits Nadia sent to my room a few days before waiting to be drunk. “Stay with me. I can glamour you long enough to get to my rooms and the ward the doors.”

“Not as Asra. I’m not drunk enough.”

“No, a slightly different spell.” I trace sigils in the air on either side of Julian. “There.”

“Who am I this time?”

“No one and deserving of no attention whatsoever. Except,” I reach up, grab his chin, and turn his face so that his gaze meets mine.  He hasn't put his eyepatch back on, and however odd the red sclera in one eye looks, I'm pleased to be looking into both his eyes. “Maybe I'll give you a bit of attention.  For the sake of pity.” Without breaking eye contact, I run my hand down his torso and palm his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans and presses himself against me.  I smile, feeling free and wicked, at least for the rest of tonight. “Come along, darling. Anyone else who sees you will see no one at all.”

~~~

My guest room has been tidied and the bed made by the ever efficient palace staff.  There's a bowl of fresh fruit on the table, along with a pair of tumblers and the bottle of whiskey Nadia sent.  I still haven't figured out how she just now what her guests will enjoy, but she has once again divined my favorite and provided.  After I was the door and windows against entry, I pour generous amounts of liquor in the tumblers and hand one to Julian.

“To innocence.”  I knock my glass against his. He drinks his as a shot, but I sip mine. It's smooth and smoky -- and worthy of contemplation.  “Have more if you want.” 

Julian pours another two fingers and raises the glass again. “And to experience.” he drinks, shower this time, then recites,

“For I dance   
And drink & sing:   
Till some blind hand   
Shall brush my wing.”

I set down my glass, empty now. “That's queer little rhyme.”

“It’s from a cycle titled  _ Songs of Innocence and Experience _ .” He shrugs. “I suppose that's why it came to mind. Actually, the poet was comparing himself to a fly.”

“You're not a fly, Julian.  Your wings are those of a raven.”  I run my hand along his shoulders and arms.  

He leans over resting his head against mine. “You should get out of those clothes.  I mean, you're soaked to the bone.”

I laugh and pull his face down to where I can kiss him. “Sure. I'll just go freshen up.” There's a small bath off to the side of the room, nothing fancy, with a gravity fed shower instead of a tub, but it did nicely for a guest chamber.  I shed my blouse as I walk across the room, giving Julian a view of my naked back, but quickly step into the small room and close the door. Let him anticipate the rest.

The shower does fine. The hot water sluicing over me chases away the chill of walking in the rain.  I enjoy it for longer than I might normally, hoping that Julian will concoct some awkward excuse to barge in and join me.  He doesn't. I twist the handles that close the water valves and quickly dry off and slip into one of the fine, gauzy robes that the palace stocks for guests.  While I had been wishing for the past week or so to have something with a bit more substance, I'm looking forward to Julian's response.

I glance over at the fireplace and freeze.  Julian is sprawled in the floor, in some sort of pose, but I barely see him for the roaring flames in the grate behind him.  It wasn't lit when we came in. He must have found the kindling and wood that the staff kept stacked and waiting beside the grate. A drone begins in my ears and the faintness I felt from seeing the fire built back at Muriel's returns.

“Dema?” Julian's voice sounds far away.  “What's wrong? You're as pale as ghost.” 

Underneath the running in my ears and the roaring of the flames, I can hear the sound of a piece of furniture being pushed aside.  The fire . . . I can't . . . Gathering as much of my magic as I can, I jerk the air away from the flames, extinguishing them.

As the fire goes out, my knees give way, and I stagger forward.  Julian catches me before I hit the floor, lifting and clutching me to his chest.  After a moment, I wrap my arms around his shoulders as tightly as I can.

“What is it?”

“Fire. I can't remember, but . . .”  The ringing in my ears is beginning to subside.  I start working through an exercise meant to be calming.  Five things I see: the wall hangings - changed to a geometric design in turquoise and silver after Nadia casually asked about my favorite colors, irises in a vase by the door - also my favorite, fluffy towel - dropped on the floor, wood floor - oak, fireplace - empty now.  Close my eyes. Moving on. Four things I hear... 

“Shh. You're safe. I've got you.”

Julian’s voice, my own heart - still pounding, rain knocking at the window, eyes are still ringing - but not as badly.  Three things I touch: soft curls - I run one hand through Julian’s hair, my other hand is on his back - warm skin, and - I drop the hand that was in his hair back behind me - the blanket, wool, slightly, pleasantly scratchy on the bed.  Two things I smell: the metallic, cutting, ozone scent of a fire recently extinguished, and Julian, salt and citrus and whiskey and Julian. One thing I taste. Easy. I find his mouth, more whiskey and Julian.

I open my eyes again.  Julian is crouched next to the bed that I’m now sitting on, staring at me with worry and wonder both in his eyes.  I force a smile. “Hi.”

His hands go to my hips.  “Hi, yourself. Are you alright?”  I nod. I’m as alright as I probably ever will be at least.  This might explain why Asra and I have a salamander for the stove instead of keeping a large fireplace.  (Or it might just be because the salamander is adorable, especially when I feed him twigs of fruit wood for a treat.)  Julian’s hand at my neck and thumb tracing along my jaw bring me back to the present. “Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head from side to side in an emphatic no.  If I start talking about it, I’ll spend the rest of the night counting from five to four to three to two to one, and I fear that despite the Countess’s impressive generosity, I will shortly run out of objects.  

His hand is resting somewhat awkwardly against my neck.  “Are you checking my pulse?”

“Umm, yes, it’s...quite a bit lower than it was a couple of minutes ago, actually.”

“Good to know all the meditation practice paid off.”  I put both my hand over his and lean forward, whispering in a fashion that I most desperately hope sounds conspiratorial.  Maybe Julian’s flair for drama can be a ramp down from too much drama. “I’m tough stuff. I have survived much more than a mere panic attack.”

“I believe you.”  He glances down at where I have his hand pressed over my heart. “You’re colder than you were.  There’s not, really, much to this robe.”

“Well, Doctor, I guess you’ll just have to find someway to get me warmed up.”  I slide his hand a little lower.

“Are you, uh, sure that’s a good idea? I mean...”

I loop one foot behind him and slide it along his bare back.  “Good idea? Don’t know. What I want right now? Yes.” I want to just be in my body, instead of my pounding, fickle head.  Sex tends to accomplish that purpose.

“Well, um, if that’s what you want.” He arches his eyebrows and his lips curl up in a smile.  I slide my other leg behind his back and pull him closer to me, simultaneously sliding his free hand further down my chest.  Short of an engraved invitation to fuck me, I’m not sure how I can make myself clearer. 

“How about what you want, Julian?” I let go of his hand and lean back on my elbows.  “Boss me around for a bit.”

“Hmm.”  He stands and looks me overly contemplatively.  I start to strike a pose, then suddenly feel the blood rushing to my cheeks, and look off to the side. “Okay, stand up.”  He pushes my feet shoulder width apart with his foot. He’s still wearing his absurd boots, but then, they can’t be easy to get out of. “Lose the robe.”  Happy to have something to do, I comply, unknotting the tie from around my waist and nudging the robe off my shoulder and then the other. Julian grabs the blanket from the bed behind me and drapes it over my shoulders. “That’s one thing I want - you not freezing to death.” 

Freezing to death is not high on my list of fears.  Actually I've heard that it's a relatively good way to go.  “Not precisely what I had in mind.”

“Did I say I was done?” 

I snap my eyes back to his.  “No. No, you did not.”

He picks up my left hand, bends over to kiss my fingertips, then touches them to my breast, dragging them around the edge of the aureole.  “Keep that up.” He steps behind me, then wraps an arm around me to grab my other breast, kneading it, before trailing his hand across my torso, pausing to trace circles over my hipbone.  I moan and slump back against him only to be pushed back upright with his free hand. “Did I tell you to do that?” I shake my head from side to side. “Aloud.”

“No.”

“Good girl. Nothing without my permission. Close your eyes.”  He’s oddly quiet, the strangeness adding to the anticipation I feel building low in my stomach.  He takes my free hand in his and guides it between my legs, dragging my fingers lightly over my outer lips.  I start to slip a finger deeper between them, but he somehow catches me, pulls my hand back, and slaps my knuckles.  Lightly, maybe too lightly. “Not yet, Dema. Some things should be savored.” His breath is warm against my throat he must be leaning in close to my ear to whisper.  “Try again.” 

This time, I trail my fingertips lightly over the outer folds of my sex.  The limited pressure, the promise of more to come, builds my excitement. Julian’s breath is still warm against my neck.  He kisses the top of my shoulder gentler, then - when I mewl with pleasure - roughly, scraping his teeth over the skin. The mewl becomes a louder moan.

“Careful, dear. The walls in this palace are thinner than you would expect.”

“I... oh...” I stifle a louder cry as he nips my earlobe. “I can fix that.”

“Can you now?”

“It’s a simple - ah -”  He pushes my hand away from my breast and catches my nipple between two of his long fingers.  “Adjustment to the warding spell I did earlier.”

“Warding spell - right. More magic things. Do it.”

“I need my hands for a moment.  And my eyes open. Please.”

“Very well.”  His breathe and hands withdraw from my body.  I raise my hands in front of me and quickly sketch the sigils for silence, before pushing them to the walls to join the other wards.  They glow for a moment before sinking into the wall. I drop my hands to my sides and close my eyes.

“Is that all?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Aren’t you a clever one.  Turn around. Open your eyes if you want.”  He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, cheeks flushed and eyelids heavy with lust. He reaches out, rearranges the blanket draped around my shoulders, and pushes my hair back from my face.  Tracing his knuckles down the side of my face, he pulls away from me, leaning back on the bed, weight resting on his elbows. “And a pretty one as well. Hands as they were.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and return my hands to my breast and my sex.  It’s harder than I expected to look at him; I drop my eyes. I can hear his weight shifting on the bed, and then he wraps his hand around the one I have between my legs, pressing my fingers between my folds, his own fingertips shadowing behind them.  Moisture is collecting at my entrance and the wetness drags along with my fingers, closer to spot that I desperately want to touch.

“You feel amazing.  Perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

Julian draws my hand away, brings it to his mouth and slowly licks my fingers.  All the blood in my body is rushing toward my cheeks or between my legs. “You’re perfect.”

He pulls me into the bed beside to him, rearranging the pillows to prop me up before placing his hands of my knees and pushing them apart.  Feeling overexposed, I glance to the side, breaking eye contact. “Show me how you touch yourself.” His hand trails down the inside of my left thigh.  “Dema, look at me.”

The only way out is forward. I let my right leg fall over the edge of the bed, exposing myself more of that's even possible, and bring my eyes back to Julian's as I slide a hand back between my legs, parting my labia to find and first circle my clit, before settling a finger on either side of it and stroking back and forth.  I moan, as much from the heat in his gaze as sensations building and tightening in my core.

Julian's hands move from my thigh and my knee to my hips. He groans and leans over me, the dynamic shifting even before he says anything. “I can't keep this up. Can I, may I, please?” 

“Please what?” 

“Taste you.”

“Go ahead.” I pull back my fingers and he drops his head, bringing his mouth to my pussy, swiping and stroking with his tongue, and I'm so glad I added the silencing spell to the wards. I twist my hands in his hair pulling it this way and that, and my right leg, toes curling, finds its way back into bed, wrapping around his back, hips rolling against his mouth.

“Julian, stop.” I pull his head back by his hair.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” I laugh. I feel like lightning is running through me, waking every never in just the way it wants to be. “God, no.” I sit up and kiss his mouth, biting and pulling at his bottom lip while working a hand between his legs. His cock, fully hard, is still trapped in his pants - poor thing. “I just want a turn.”

I work down his body from his lips, kissing, biting, sucking and pinching as a I go, stopping and spending time at a spot if he whined just so and seems to particularly like it.  He's touching mpe the entire time, strong hands kneading my back, sneaking between my things to find sensitive spots there, sliding to my front to toy with my breasts, simply tangling themselves in my hair. 

I reach his belt and find myself stymied. It's some unreasonably elaborate thing, a knotted sash over a traditional buckled number.  Needing a better angle, I climb off the bed and kneel between his legs, fussing with the knot. 

“Do you want some help there?”

“Dammit, I am resolved.”

He chuckles and strokes my hair. “I admire your tenacity.” 

I cackle in triumph when I finally get the knot undone.  The belt is no trouble, a surprisingly basic (for Julian) buckle and then I'm free to undo his fly and free his cock.  I run my hand from navel to groin and press my lips against the base of him. He makes the most wonderful noise as I drag my tongue along the underside and around the tip, I repeat the action eliciting a moan that might have been an attempt at my name.

I push his pants down a bit farther and slap his flank. “Hips up, darling.” I drag my nails down the outside of his thighs, leaving red welts that almost instantly disappear, and dragging his pants along with them.  Just above his knees, I hit a new obstacle. He still has on his boots. “Godammit!”

“What? Oh, shit. Let me help you with those.”

He better. There are something like six clasps going down the side of each one. As I start on the right boot, a lightweight stairs and my shoulders. The blanket again. I look up.

“You're still worried I'm cold, aren't you?”

He nods and brushed his thumb along my cheek.  I lean back in and kiss the inside of his thigh; no teeth this time, I'm only feeling tenderness. “I think I love you.” Julian's hands trembles where it's resting against my neck.  I look up, his face looks thunderstruck. “Also, I'm buying you a pair of sensible boots.” 

I duck down and go back to work undoing the clasps.  Julian leans over, undoing the fastenings on his other leg, much more efficiently than I am, but then he's had practice. I peel the boots off his legs and finally can get his pants off.  He's glorious naked, all long lines and wiry muscle.

Reaching down, he takes my arms and pulls me up and toward him. I climb into his lap, my legs folded and straddling him, the extra bit of height putting me almost at eye level. He's made sure the blanket remains covering my back and it is warmer in the snug little cocoon it creates with his body.

“Say it again.”

“What?” I smile, teasing him. “That I'm buying you some sensible shoes.”

“No.”

I press my forehead to his, breathing in the scent of him and whisper softly, “I think I love you, Julian Devorak.” Then, not knowing where or when I learned how to say I love you in Nevivon’s native language, but knowing, just knowing that I had it right.  “ _ Ilya, ya tebya liubliu _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snippet of poetry Julian quotes is from William Blake.
> 
> I've decided to adopt the headcanon that Julian is Russian-ish in part because I conveniently know enough Russian to get into trouble. And our guilt stricken, self lacerating boy does seem like he could have stepped out of Dostoevsky novel. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm on tumblr @aria-i-adagio.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments give my life extra meaning, and I do not have a beta reader, so constructive criticism is happily accepted. As are hints on tagging.
> 
> I'm on tumbler as [Aria-i-Adagio](http://aria-i-adagio.tumblr.com).


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